Thousand Words
by kathryn-hs
Summary: Booth's unexpected talent leaves Brennan strangely breathless...
1. Chapter 1

Temperance sighed to herself as she slid her key into the lock. It turned smoothly, and she let herself into Booth's apartment. It wasn't often her partner forgot files at home, and she found herself vaguely amused at his embarrassed tone over the phone when she inquired what happened to their last casefile. She knew he had a sizable stack of paperwork to work on already, so she had offered to collect it herself.

Privately, she didn't mind. It wasn't often she spent time in Booth's apartment without him there. Perhaps she was being fanciful, but she fancied his sturdy presence lingered in the air. People did shape their surroundings, so perhaps it wasn't quite so far-fetched. The living space was much like him; neat and functional, with odd quirks here and there that made her smile and shake her head. He had a taste for unusual furniture and a tendency to leave his laptop unplugged. She walked over and absently reinserted the power cord, continuing to look around. The large television was no surprise, but the misshapen clay pot sitting on top was slightly peculiar. She squinted at the lumpy surface, covered with glitter and liberal daubs of neon paint, and deduced that it must be a gift from Parker.

The boy was a second presence, lighter and smaller than Booth, but still visible to any observer. The brightly coloured children's books on a low bookshelf, a handful of robots scattered on the carpet, tiny shoes beside the door. Parker wasn't over nearly as often as Booth would like, but when he was, Booth always made sure there was a place for him.

For her as well. Even she left a mark on his environment, an observation that left the scientist feeling unusually peaceful. A neat collection of her mysteries sat on his bookshelf. Every novel she had published, he had bought. Most of his books appeared comfortably used, most likely picked up at second-hand bookshops. Not hers. Any book bearing the name _Temperance Brennan_ was clad in a shining dust jacket, and looked brand new. Her partner had spent extra money and bought them immediately, rather than waiting months for the relatively inexpensive paperback editions.

Suddenly, she realized she was standing in her partner's apartment, breathing deeply and smiling to herself. She looked around guiltily. Of course, she was just looking out of anthropological interest, but it would appear strange to an outside observer.

The one thing she hadn't spotted in her inspection was the elusive file. Not in the kitchen, living room…Temperance checked the bathroom. No. That left his bedroom. Inexplicably, she found herself swallowing slightly.

Telling herself she was being foolish, she turned the handle firmly and entered. Looking around while _not_ looking at anything was more difficult than she anticipated, but quickly discovered the manila folder on a small table. She tucked it under one arm and turned to leave, but her gaze was drawn towards something from the corner of her eye.

It was a painting easel. This alone was cause for consideration. It sat by the window, a swivel chair pulled beside it. On the chair rested an open box of paint; the small cakes showed signs of enthusiastic usage. Several paintbrushes lay on top. She wasn't a reliable judge, but they looked like very good quality.

Temperance had been aware he had some level of artistic talent ever since that first Christmas. They had been quarantined inside the Medico-Legal Lab, and Angela had initiated a 'Secret Santa'. At the time she had seen gift-giving as a way of asserting dominance, so had refused to take part. Now, several years wiser, she regretted that decision. Perhaps gift-giving was a way to send a message to another member of the species, but it didn't logically follow that said message could only refer to positions in social hierarchy. Booth's paper creation had been beautiful, and Dr. Goodman had seemed pleased. Then last year, on their outing with Sweets and his fish-loving girlfriend, her partner's artistic talents had manifested in the shape of a lifelike clay horse.

Now he was a painter too. Looking at his painting would probably be an invasion of privacy, but Booth hadn't specifically told her not to look. Temperance walked to the other side of the wooden easel, noting that it was carefully positioned to allow natural light to fall on the canvas.

Then she saw what he was painting, and Temperance felt like her legs had turned to stone. That was hyperbole, but since her nervous system seemed to have momentarily seized up, it was forgivable.

The artwork Booth had been working on this morning, one that caused him to be distracted to the point he forgot a valuable case file…It was a portrait of…Something was definitely wrong with her synapses. Neurons misfiring, temporary hallucinations, anything.

Now her lungs were shutting down. Her breath was gone, stolen by her bemusement and, if she was being frank with herself, wonder. It was somewhat stylized, but still unmistakably herself.

Objectively, she was aware that she was a sexually desirable woman, but it wasn't something she was especially proud of. Attractive features were encoded into a person's DNA. It wasn't an accomplishment to be good-looking. You were, or you weren't. Far more impressive, to her mind, was the fact that she was a forensic anthropologist. That required study, and dedication, and…Babbling. Mentally, she was babbling, in a vain effort to distract her eyes from what they were seeing…She quashed her unhelpful thoughts with irritation.

The woman in the painting was beautiful. Not just attractive. Simply, honestly, unselfconsciously gorgeous. Her head was tilted upward, eyes focused on something distant and absorbing. She had a distinctive face, fine underlying bone structure, and an enigmatic half-smile. It drew the viewer in, made you wonder what she was looking at that made full lips curve just so. Booth had carefully shaded the woman's creamy skin to contrast with dark, curling lashes that framed her faraway eyes. They were changeable, those eyes. Blue, or perhaps lavender-grey. Full of light, full of sadness, full of mystery.

A high forehead gave way to loose waves of chestnut hair, blowing back in riotous contrast to the sedate, controlled face. Undertones of platinum and copper twisted through her locks, giving depth and contrast. One strand blew across her graceful neck, drawing attention to her smooth clavicle and bare skin.

The whole painting was washed in an undertone that reminded her of a time of day where the sun appeared low in the sky. Not sunset. The tone was lighter, clearer than the heady gold of sunset. Sunrise. A new day, everything bright and full of possibility.

Temperance swallowed, attempting to rid herself of a tightening sensation in her throat. Everything seemed clearer, sharper, a side effect of the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She was breathing far too rapidly, causing her to become slightly lightheaded.

Ever since she had met the FBI agent, she had sought to understand him. She respected his abilities even before she came to genuinely like the man himself. He was a 'feelings' person, all gut and instinct. She could never keep the upper hand in a conversation with him. Their worlds abruptly intersected when crime was involved, and they both had what the other needed. He was erratic, unpredictable, but dependable. Booth never flinched, never left, never gave up. Perhaps Andy Lister had been inspired by the agent, in a vain hope that she could use the fictional version to see through the original's eyes.

What was the saying? 'Be careful what you wish for, because you might get it'? Temperance knew she had heard it before, more than once. Even her lack of knowledge about popular culture had limits. It always seemed a puzzling expression. Lately, she had gradually begun to see truth in it. She had desired to see things through her partner's eyes, and her wish was granted. For the woman in the painting was herself, through the filter of his eyes.

It sounded suspiciously like psychology, but Temperance was past caring by this point. Her friend and partner, Special Agent Seeley Booth, didn't choose to paint her in a lab coat inspecting patellae and odd manubriums. That would have been appropriate, if a touch out of the ordinary. Instead, he painted his Bones with a nimbus of morning light surrounding her, glowing and vulnerable inside her thoughts, with a tumble of flowing hair and no visible clothing. That was way beyond any invisible line of propriety…That was…strangely flattering.

Her cellular phone rang, and she jerked. Fumbling it out of a pocket, she glanced at the screen. Booth. She swallowed again, clearing the large lump out of her trachea.

"Brennan." She managed to speak into the mouthpiece, and her voice didn't seem too flustered. Temperance winced to herself. How could she be so flustered? _I am a scientist. Calm. Collected._

"Hey Bones." Her partner's voice was abashed. "Just, you know, checking in. I'm sorry about the file, really. Did you, um, find it? I can't remember where I left it." Now he sounded oddly nervous. Was he worried that she might have seen the painting? She made a sudden decision to bend the truth.

"I did. Find it, that is. On the coffee table in your living room. You left your laptop unplugged again. If you want to extend the life of that computer, I would recommend you stop forgetting. Letting the battery run down has a detrimental effect on hardware." With her doppelganger staring so serenely, it was hard to speak coherently. She ignored it resolutely, staring out the window. Booth's window.

"Oh. Great! I mean-not great. I shouldn't have forgot it. But great, that you found it. In the living room. Yeah." Apparently she wasn't the only one who was having issues with coherency. A spark of mischief made her ask:

"You don't usually forget files. What exactly were you doing this morning?" She was rewarded by a faint hiss of breath as he tried to think.

"I had some…stuff…that I'd been working on for a while. I wanted to finish it up before I left. Look, Bones, I'm sorry about the file. Can I drop by your apartment with some food tonight? Thai? Vietnamese? Just say the word."

She found that she was looking at the woman in the painting again, reflected off window glass. Her face and the woman's face, side by side. Looking from one to the other, Temperance smiled. A heady chemical cocktail rushed through her bloodstream. Serotonin, dopamine, adrenaline, norepinephrine.

"Are you still there? Bones!" Temperance jerked back to reality.

"What? Yes. Yes, dinner is fine. Vietnamese would be…fine." Why couldn't she think of another word to use?

"OK. Well, see you."

"Goodbye, Booth." Her phone went back into a pocket. She needed to get back to the lab. Turning back to the painting one last time, Temperance found her hand lifting. It traced the curve of the woman's shoulder before resting on the blank part of the canvas.

A warm feeling flowed down her arm to settle just below her heart. She was still smiling foolishly, but couldn't seem to make herself stop. A realization began to grow, but whatever it was, the epiphany was frustratingly hard to pin down. Temperance pulled her fingers away from the picture. They tingled faintly.

She sighed, turned away from the easel, and left Booth's apartment. Her thoughts were preoccupied for the rest of the day, torn between dissecting the epiphany or ignoring it.

Eventually, Temperance conceded defeat. She would explore the strange intuition at a later date. For now, she had dinner with Booth, and she didn't want to be late.

A.N. So. Thoughts? Impressions? Think I should continue? Let me know by clicking the pretty button and typing!

Oh, and sorry if the summary made it sound naughty. Had to hook people in somehow. Just kidding.


	2. Chapter 2

A.N. I am awed and inspired by all the helpful feedback. Thanks a lot! Hope you like this chapter. This story will probably end up a three-shot.

Booth walked down the hallway to his office, rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he went. His coffee maker was broken, his alarm hadn't gone off, and generally he was in a bit of a crappy mood. All he had to look forward to this morning was a pile of paperwork.

Waking up to Bones' blue gaze hadn't helped either. Why exactly had he thought it'd be a good idea to paint his partner? It was too lifelike, too damn near the real thing for comfort. And now he had painted it, what was he supposed to do with it? Frame it and hang it on his wall like some kind of pervert? He couldn't just get rid of it, but if Bones ever saw the picture…

He groaned quietly to himself, flashing a distracted smile at a few agents walking past. Yesterday had been too close. If she had gone in his room he would have been dead. So dead he didn't want to think about it. Good thing she respected the territory of an alpha male. Or whatever squint-speak was for personal space.

He opened his office door and walked in, then stopped. Cocking his head to one side, Booth took a deep breath. What was that gorgeous _smell_? Eyes closing involuntarily, he sniffed the air. His eyebrows shot up. _Berries, pastry, and was that just a_ hint _of brown sugar?_

Dark eyes snapped open, and he skidded around his desk, staring in disbelief. There, sitting innocently on a trivet in the center of his desk, all golden brown and crispy, was a pie. It wasn't some boring store-bought thing, nope, this was the real deal. It was perfect just in its imperfections; the way the crust was irregularly crimped, the slight purple ooze of sugar from one of the triangular holes in the crust, the brown sugar scattered over the top just so.

The man gaped for a long moment, and then broke into a wide, puzzled grin. Beside the mysterious pie was a short stack of paper plates, a plastic fork, a knife, and a handful of napkins.

He knew he really should get it checked out. It could be poisoned. It wasn't like he didn't have enemies. As a responsible agent, Booth should report it. Who would send a pie and not leave a note? Then he made the mistake of touching it. The pie was still warm.

His hand closed around the fork, and before he knew it, he had stabbed it into the gooey center and raised it to his lips. The FBI agent sat down heavily. Warm, sugary blackberries, light flaky pastry…he was in heaven. He cut himself a large slice, placed it carefully on a plate, and settled down comfortably.

Two pieces later, he realized he really should do some paperwork. It went amazingly fast, eased along by generous bites of pie. Several hours later, the stack was nearly finished, and the wonderful pie was more than half-way eaten. _Jesus Christ, I'm in love with a pastry. I bet even Bones wouldn't turn down a slice of this stuff._

While he was thinking of Bones…he gathered a few pieces of paper. They needed to be co-signed by his partner. Now, they probably could wait a few days, but if he left now, he could arrive a bit before lunch, hang around, bug her a little bit, and sweep her off to lunch. Not that he'd be very hungry, but he could still eat something.

He inspected what remained of the pie, hoping for any clue he had missed. Who would have sent him a pie? Shaking his head, he took one last bite and stood up. _Farewell, my love. I'll be back soon._ He laughed to himself, tucked the papers under his arm, and left the office.

A little while later he swiped his card and walked up the steps. Hodgins was standing beside a microscope, body language almost nervous. Angela was in front of him, reluctantly handing him a sample of something. Her head was turned slightly, clearly trying not to look at him. Booth swallowed as Hodgins' fingers brushed against hers. Even from a distance, he felt the same electricity that made the woman's head flick back towards her ex-fiancée. Their eyes met, and Booth felt uncomfortably like a voyeur. Something was so clearly unfinished between them. He had a sudden urge to lock them in a room until they talked out their issues. They had seemed so perfect, before.

Clearing his throat, he walked onto the platform, trying to pretend he hadn't seen anything. The former couple practically flew apart, Angela mumbling a brief 'hi' before retreating to her office. Booth waved awkwardly at the bug guy, giving him a sympathetic clap on the shoulder.

"Hey, dude." Hodgins looked a bit shaken. "Looking for Dr. Brennan? Another case?"

"Nah, just paperwork. Is Bones in her office?" He asked. Hodgins nodded, but his eyes drifted in the direction Angela had fled. Booth leaned slightly, meeting his eyes. "How you doing?" The man's shoulders raised defensively for a moment, then he sighed.

"I've been better." Booth winced in sympathy.

"Hang in there, Jack. Hang in there."

Bones was indeed in her office, fingers jumping around the keyboard as she typed quickly. She smiled as he entered.

"Booth! I didn't expect to see you today…"

"Got some paperwork for you to sign." He tossed them in her direction and leaned on her desk. "And of course I came to brighten up your day." Booth grinned cheekily at her raised brow, studying her as she signed quickly. "So, how's your day been, Bones? Any exciting bone-piles to inspect?" He watched her as she talked about her latest skeleton from Limbo, only half-listening. _She looks tired. Is she still having problems sleeping? Please tell me she didn't sleep on her couch. That thing is comfy, but geez. She needs to take better care of herself…_ He realized Bones had just asked him a question. He blinked, and she repeated it patiently.

"And yourself, Booth?"

"Well, I came into work a bit late 'cause my alarm AND coffee maker both broke, but someone gave me a pie, Bones! Seriously, I just walk in and the pie's sitting there, still warm and everything!" She nodded, face smooth, and glanced down at the stack of papers.

"How was the pie?"

"So good I could kiss whoever made it! I swear, just about the best thing I've ever tasted. Even you'd like it, I bet." He stopped, suddenly suspicious. Her face had been just a bit too smooth there, and now her cheeks were turning an unusual shade of pink.

His eyes fell on her left arm, where her short-sleeved top left a small burn mark visible. The kind you get when baking if you bump the edge of the hot oven. His jaw dropped open as Bones glanced up at him, and his suspicion was confirmed by the look in her eyes.

"Um, Bones? Did you-?" His throat was suddenly paper-dry. "-happen to maybe decide to put a pie in my office this morning?" She licked her lips, looking embarrassed.

"I did. I haven't been sleeping well since…" She didn't need to say _Zack_. He knew. "You left late after dinner last night. And, well, I have recently been attempting to hone my skills in the culinary arts. I am well aware of your opinion of pie, so when I decided to experiment with pastry, you came to mind as the logical recipient of the end result."

"Bones. You baked me a pie." Maybe it was stating the obvious, but his brain appeared to be mostly erased. Bones, his gorgeous brainiac scientist partner, had made him a pie with her own hands. "Not just any pie. An AMAZING pie. Wow. Thanks, Bones." He smiled at her, and she smiled back. "Come on. I'm taking you to lunch."

He turned to get her coat, and when he turned back, she was in front of him. Too close, really, but when she spoke, he found he couldn't move.

"Did you mean it Booth?" Her voice was almost, but not quite, casual. He stared, now completely rattled. "About whoever made the pie?" _Oh dammit I just said I'd kiss her._

She just looked at him with those huge, pale, bewitching eyes of hers. Did she mean it? What did she actually mean? Did she want him to really kiss her, or just a kiss on the cheek? What if he picked the wrong one, and she got confused about what he meant by it? What _did_ he mean by it?

"Doctor Brennan, I have the particulate analysis off that Icelandic skull-Um,wow…" Hodgins, waving a folder, was stopped in mid-stride, looking even more awkward than Booth had been earlier. His all-too-knowing gaze moved from Booth to the very red Brennan, and the agent had a sudden urge to punch the little smirk off his face.

Booth very carefully stepped back from Bones, holding out her jacket like a shield.

"Bones…made me pie." Hodgins nodded, the smirk growing.

"Must have been some pie, huh?" Bones slid her arms through the coat, and strode past Hodgins.

"Please leave the particulate analysis on my desk, Dr. Hodgins. We're taking a lunch break." She gestured for Booth to follow her, and walked away.

"Man, Booth, all that pie and still hungry? That's some appetite." The guy actually had the nerve to wink!

"Not a word, bug man. Not. One. Word." At least he probably wouldn't tell Angela. It may be the only good thing ever to come of their break-up. He really didn't want Angela to start making those suggestive comments again.

He followed after Bones, deep in reflection. He couldn't help but wonder at the look in her eye, and the way she'd just managed to make him speechless. The taste of Bones' pie lingered in his mouth, and he swallowed, hard. He would figure her out. It was practically part of the job description.

_Oh yeah?_ A small voice in the back of his head chipped in. _Painting naked pictures of your colleagues is_ normal _behaviour? You're a sick man. _Booth winced.

"I _will_ figure this out!" He muttered.

"What?" Bones glanced back, face still rosy with embarrassment.

"Nothing, Bones. Let's go."

~TBC~


	3. Chapter 3

Booth slid into his side of their usual table and waited for Bones to take her spot across from him. Her lips compressed and her gaze flicked from her seat to him and back. She shifted on her feet for a moment.

To his shock, she sat down heavily. Right beside him. He stared as she fussed first with her hair, then with her cutlery. Bones finally looked over at him. It was clear she was fighting to keep her expression normal, but her delicate face was tighter than usual. A muscle clenched in her cheek. _Say anything and I will feed you to the lab's scarab beetles._ He got the unspoken message.

"So. Iceland, huh? I always thought the two should be switched. Greenland is icy and Iceland is green." Nervousness slipped past her mask when he started speaking, but she relaxed marginally and began explaining their names at great length.

He loved to listen to her talk. Her guard always slipped when she was talking about something she enjoyed. She literally sparkled. That was probably cliché, but Bones was the writer here, not him.

Their waitress came by and asked if they wanted their usual. Booth, not paying much attention, nodded. He really needed a burger. Bones ordered her food and launched back into an explanation of how the skull arrived at the Jeffersonian. She was rattled, he realized. _Really_ rattled. Though she did tend to talk a lot, this was not normal. Still, if it made her feel better…Bones wasn't the only one who needed some time to calm down.

When his burger arrived, he launched himself at it like a dying man. Thank God for comfort food. Bones stopped talking and started to pick at her salad. He watched her carefully out of the corner of his eye. Did they need to talk about it? Would that just make things more confusing?

Her eyes flickered, so fast he nearly missed it. There it was again. She was sneaking glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking! Booth turned slightly. While pretending to look out the window, he stared in bemusement at their reflections. Like her head was tied to a string, she turned with him, blue eyes tracing his profile. OK…Now he was getting uncomfortable.

He turned quickly, and she whirled back to her uneaten salad. Not quite fast enough. Their eyes met and held for a second, before sliding awkwardly away.

Their waitress came walking back, and slid a plate in Booth's direction. She favoured them both with a smile before moving to the next booth to pour coffee.

They both sat staring at the plate like it was poison. He groaned involuntarily. Sitting innocently on the plate was his usual. A large slice of…pie.

_Oh, Hell._

He couldn't say how long they both stared stupidly at the pastry before Bones glanced over at him. She made a faint noise of frustration and picked up her own fork. His partner leaned over, brushing his shoulder with soft hair as she did so, and stuck her fork in Booth's pie. He watched with a mixture of horror and awe as she lifted it to her lips and swallowed deliberately. Her pink tongue flicked a crumb off her upper lip as she tossed the metaphorical gauntlet back down on the table.

"I think it's interesting psychologically how Agent Booth's constant efforts to persuade you to enjoy fruit pie could be interpreted as a type of seduction." An annoying voice in the back of his head chirped smugly. Sweets. He was gonna KILL Sweets for putting that idea into his head.

His partner was staring challengingly at him. What was he supposed to say to that?

"Bones. I thought you didn't eat pie." That was lame. So lame.

"I don't eat fruit pie. This is pecan pie. An important distinction. Pecans are nuts, not fruit. Did you know that, relatively speaking, they were only domesticated very recently? The US didn't begin commercially growing them until the 1880s-"

"Bones!" He slammed one hand down on the table. Enough with the empty squint talk. Enough with the nervous dancing around the elephant in the room. He was tired of it. Her nerves must be as on edge as his, because she jumped in her seat. He lowered his voice. "Let's just be honest, kay? Thank you for making me the pie. Really. But why? You don't _like_ pie."

Her confrontational look was still firmly in place. She leaned forward and scooted over, effectively backing him right up into the corner of the booth. Booth trapped in a booth. Ha ha. How did she loom like that? Bones stared at him like a cat with a very scared mouse.

"More to the point, Booth. Why were you painting my portrait without asking me first?"

His mouth dropped open, and he sagged against the window. She saw. She saw she saw she saw. Nononono, it wasn't supposed to-SHE wasn't supposed to-Oh God he was so dead.

"How did you…Bones! You said you didn't go into my room!" He sputtered lamely. Maybe if he could put her on defensive he could get away with his balls intact. Her eyes flashed. Maybe not.

"That's irrelevant. The file you forgot was in your room; what did you expect? Now answer my question."

"Angela's not the only artist. I like painting. Sometimes I paint people I work with. No big deal, right Bones? I mean, you put people you know in your books." He tried for a big smile. It came out a little odd, and Bones' expression was still fierce.

"You're still misinterpreting the essential question. What were you thinking, painting me like _that_?" A crack shivered along her voice and mask. She was so vulnerable, trying to confront what lay between them in the only way she knew how. His heart squeezed painfully.

Cloth rustled as she turned away from him, whispering softly, "Colleagues don't objectify their partners like that. I looked…" She trailed off. He took a deep, deep breath. Truth time.

"Unpartnerly? Vulnerable? Beautiful?" All these things he had seen in the portrait. What was it she saw? "Hey." Lifting a hand, he edged closer to her and turned her face back to him. Long-lashed eyes were closed, eyelids pale and almost translucent. His partner's skin was warm and soft under his palm, and Booth felt dizzy. "Please look at me."

Azure eyes opened slowly. She stared silently back at him, the pair both lost for words.

Reflected in her eyes was another painting, more beautiful than the first. Her face was curious, hesitant, her lips parted to catch her breath. There was something in her eyes. Terror, frustration, and…was it desire?

Booth didn't think he was much of a painter. Most of the techniques went right over his head. He could go a year without painting anything and not really miss it. He couldn't paint landscapes or still lives. But people, now that was different. The agent loved to paint the human face. To catch the nuances of expression, the fragility and cruelty he saw so often in his line of work, and pause them in mid-thought.

But in his entire creative career, he had never met a face that had puzzled him more than Temperance Brennan's. It _looked_ like a painting; one of those pretty china faces from a cameo. Except the jaw spoke of determination, the eyes shouted professionalism, and the lines around her eyes hinted at sadness. It took him a year to realize he wanted to paint her, and years more to decide he would. He looked for the perfect frozen moment, to capture his Bones on canvas. The problem was, every moment felt like _the _moment with her. She was mesmerizing, and dammit, he _loved_ her. He was so far under her spell that every time their eyes met, he drowned a little bit more.

Eventually, he had gathered his paints and just let the brush meet canvas. Tracing her shoulders, her elegant collarbone and the curve of her neck, he lost himself in her strong chin, her fine cheekbones and the slope of her nose. It wasn't his elusive perfect moment, but it was so clearly his Bones that it made him ache inside.

The irony was this. His perfect moment came a day after he finished the painting, and was here, now, staring him back in the face.

"I don't know why I baked you the pie. It's just-you do so much for me, Booth. Sometimes I think you do too much. I think-." She broke off, a faint crease appearing on her forehead as she thought hard. Finally, Bones nodded, partly to herself and partly to him. "I didn't think. For once. I didn't use my head. I used my…heart." Her voice trailed off again. His thumb began tracing the line of her cheekbone. He was drowning, but he'd rather die than stop for air.

"I painted you because it's how I see you sometimes." Booth replied. "When my eyes are closed, just before I wake up in the morning." He watched her eyes darken with a strange but familiar emotion. "I don't think I did you justice. I really don't. I'd love to try again, though. Because right now?" An urge to grin like a fool made his lips quiver and tilt upwards. "Right now, just this moment feels perfect to me, Bones. You and me."

"No!" An intense comprehension lit her eyes. "I wouldn't say that." Then Bones (his partner, his best friend, the love of his life) wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed him.

A.N. Now...I could just leave it like that. I did say three chapters. But I suppose I could write another. If you'd like. Review and let me know! Either way, it's been fun. Thanks so much for everyone's feedback, you've been really kind.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Sorry this took a bit longer, I've never written so much romancy stuff before. It was lots of fun though. Again, thanks to my reviewers for your kindness.

She'd forgotten.

That was the only coherent thought in Temperance's mind as she kissed her partner for the second time. She had believed she had a good memory, believed every millisecond of that Christmas kiss was burned straight into her nervous system.

But she hadn't really remembered what it was like to have your entire world shaken and pulled from its orbit. To have everything so neatly in place on moment, and in utter disarray the next. He always did this to her. Made sense out of her chaos, then in the next moment upended all logic and structure, leaving her trembling and vulnerable.

Yet even that he somehow made fine, just by being Booth. Logically, she should be terrified. She was breaking all their careful boundaries, jumping brazenly over that irritating line. And somehow she really didn't care.

Because he was responding to her in a way that made her shiver. Never fast enough to get completely overwhelmed, but deeply enough that she couldn't dream of pulling away. His lips were soft but firm, meeting hers with no hesitations.

While she had started the kiss fully in charge, Temperance wasn't so sure who was anymore. Objectivity had vanished when his artwork's painted eyes met hers. Did she move herself half onto his lap, or had he simply lifted her? He enfolded her in strong arms; to make her feel safe, or to stop her from changing her mind mid-kiss?

Booth's mouth was hot on hers as the kiss deepened. She could feel his pulse pounding under her fingers as they slid across his neck. Temperance opened her eyes, tracing the smooth planes of the face so close to hers. The grain of his dark stubble scraped across her sensitized cheek, contrasting with the feathery brush of his eyelashes as he, too opened his eyes. His warm eyes looked into hers an inch away, and their hearts skipped a beat in synchrony.

Their lips stopped moving as they silently absorbed each other's gaze. She didn't know what he saw, but Temperance saw the man she had known for the last four years. Compassion, wariness, humour, trust, and friendship all mingled together with that intangible, ever-growing spark between them. The anthropologist struggled to put a name to it. Perhaps it didn't need a classification. Perhaps it just was.

She smiled against his lips, only to find Booth's lips curving up in turn. Their second kiss turned into a third. It was quiet and sweet, his hold on her softening into an embrace. Breaths mingled together as slowly, slowly, they let four years of stolen glances and touches reach the inescapable conclusion.

Eventually Temperance pulled back. She felt shaken and drained, but at her core, she was thoroughly content. When she looked at Booth's face, though, she burst out laughing.

"What??" He looked even more confused. "What's wrong??" Laughter hadn't been the reaction he was expecting.

"I'm sorry, Booth," She ran a hand across his cheek, making him blink and swallow. "It's just the expression you were wearing…I recognize it from Christmas." Again, he looked disconcerted.

"Expression? I didn't have…what expression? Bones?" There was a subtly different tone in his voice when he used her nickname, an undercurrent of wonder that made her throat feel unexpectedly thick.

"That look of complete and total discombobulation. Like you are physically incapable of breathing and thinking at the same time." His eyes flashed at her. "What? I'm simply stating facts."

"Well, here's facts for you, Temperance Brennan. You just kissed me. Again. You just baked a pie for me. Remember what Sweets said about pies? And…" He leaned in a bit closer, and she forced herself to remain motionless. "You're still curled up on my lap."

His grin was enormous as she flushed and tried to slip off. One large hand caught her around the waist and held her. She cursed her body's reaction to him, and pretended that she had just become motionless of her own accord.

Now she was speechless _and_ breathless. Unfair. Temperance deliberately settled herself onto his lap. It was surprisingly comfortable. She swung her legs to one side and stayed there, sitting with perfect posture. He kept his hand on her lower back, one finger touching bare skin where her shirt rode up. It was horribly distracting. Her body was always abnormally aware of his, but never to this degree. Every tiny shift, every breath he took, she noticed.

"So." Booth's eyes never left hers. What was he looking for in her face? What was he _finding_? "Where does this leave us, Bones?" He looked…shy. Booth was never shy.

"I have no understanding of this sort of thing. I doubt anyone does, psychologists' prattle to the contrary." She took an extremely deep breath. "It seems to me there are more than simple platonic feelings of friendship between the two of us; indeed, I suspect the aforementioned feelings have been building for a considerable length of time, not to say we've been oblivious, I for one will freely admit that as a woman, I have often found you-." Booth reached his hand up to her lips and brushed them with a fingertip. A strange electricity spidered through her veins, leaving a warm sensation behind. She cut off suddenly, falling silent.

"You're completely crazy, Bones. You know that?" There was an odd light behind his dark eyes. "And you drive me crazy too. Just so we're clear. You think this…_us_ isn't a bad idea doomed to failure for anthropological reasons. You want to do this." It wasn't exactly a question, but she nodded.

"We might. Any human relationship has the potential of failure." The memory of Angela and Hodgins was still fresh enough to hurt. "But I think…I _hope_, that we might be able to. I want to, Booth. I care about you more than…" _More than I can understand. More than you know._ Her voice failed her.

"I'm afraid of messing up. Bones, I'm not so good at relationships. Look at Rebecca, look at my family. I don't-don't know how to make things work. I want to, so badly. It just never works." He paused for breath, and Temperance began speaking indignantly.

"Rebecca proves that you can still raise a child with her despite the fact you are no longer together. And Jared-your father? You aren't like them. Booth, you are better than that and you know it. Even if you've forgotten, I can explain it to you in great detail any time you'd like. We don't have to become our parents. Otherwise you'd probably have me in handcuffs one of these days." He snorted suddenly, eyes crinkling with suppressed laughter before becoming very thoughtful. She elbowed him, not sure what he found so funny.

"Thanks, Bones. I do know what you mean, and I want to make this work. Neither of us know what we're doing, but this won't be a traditional relationship." She smiled at him. Theirs had never been a typical relationship. That had never been a problem. "All I know is that when I look at you, I feel…" He shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to say it. She braced herself.

"Our culture might call it love." He jerked in shock, muscles turning to rocks underneath her. She was tense too, choosing words carefully, finding phrases that felt _right._ "Our culture, I find, attaches an alarming amount of other meanings to the word. Still…" She faltered, but the disbelieving joy suffusing Booth's face kept her talking. "At its core, love is intense affection a person feels for another. It may be sustained by chemicals in the brain, but the trust and affection I feel for you isn't easily analyzed." Booth gave her a crooked smile, drawing her close with hands that shook slightly.

"Bones…" He breathed into her hair. "I 'feel intense affection' for you too." Humour and sincerity laced his voice. It wasn't a complete declaration of love. Their hearts and minds were a little too full of new revelations at the moment, and truthfully, a diner seat wasn't the best place for those three words. But it was enough. More than enough.

Temperance relaxed, her cheek lying against his broad shoulder. She breathed slowly, smelling his warm scent, feeling his heartbeat. His head rested atop hers, and she could see a future laid before them. One where they woke together, just like this, and the first things she saw in the morning were his reassuring eyes. A future in which his arms weren't off-limits except in the event of severe emotional and/or physical trauma, but instead were always outstretched. Where they shared everything, all their fear and weaknesses, and soothed each others' scars. An apartment or house, commitment, fights, reconciliations, grey hairs. The thought would have terrified her a few years ago. It should scare her now. Yet it didn't. This was Booth. Her best friend, confidante, partner, and (if she was wholly honest) the man she very likely was in love with.

She opened her eyes and looked around.

"Booth?"

"Hmm?" He hummed a query.

"Everyone in the diner is staring at us." The agent raised his eyebrows at tables filled with staring onlookers.

"Don't care." He adjusted his arms to hold her more gently.

"Booth?"

"Yes, Bones?"

"Would you like to 'play hockey'?" Booth lifted his head to stare at her. "Oh, was that the incorrect terminology? I'm sorry. What do you call it when people neglect school, or work as the case may be, to pursue other, more interesting courses of action?" Brown eyes were suddenly very wide.

"Hooky."

"Ah. What's the correct spelling of that, please?"

"H-O-O-K-Y. Are you, Temperance Brennan, seriously suggesting we skip work?" His Adam's apple bobbed nervously. "What for?" He seemed almost afraid of the answer.

"You wished to paint me in an 'unpartnerly' attitude. I doubt that's even a word, but I'm certainly not opposed to the notion-" She was cut off by his lips against hers, a quick pressure that nevertheless made her lose her train of thought. Before she could gather her thoughts, he had grabbed her hand and was sliding her off his lap, then towing her out the door. Identical grins lit their faces as they practically ran to Booth's car, side by side.


End file.
